


Wintering Together

by whisperedstory



Series: Geraskier Holiday Fics [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Winter At Oxenfurt (The Witcher), yule banquet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedstory/pseuds/whisperedstory
Summary: Geralt spends the winter in Oxenfurt with Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Holiday Fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038057
Comments: 21
Kudos: 342





	Wintering Together

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [dancing_adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) <3

Jaskier brushes snow from the shoulders of his cloak and gives it a little shake before he steps into the inn where he's renting a room for the winter. 

The innkeeper is bent over, putting more wood into the hearth, but she looks up when Jaskier enters and smiles at him. 

"Ah, Master Jaskier. Hello," she says, brushing a hand down the skirt of her dress. "Your friend came back just a little while ago."

There's no concern or distaste in her voice, so Jaskier guesses that means there were no visibly bleeding wounds on him nor was he covered in guts or anything else unsavory. 

"Thank you," Jaskier says with a nod and smiles as he goes to hurry upstairs. 

Geralt wasn't gone long this time, only left this morning shortly before Jaskier headed out himself. He's been taking on small contracts in and around Oxenfurt, but there hasn't been much and the snow has made it difficult for him to travel too far from town. Jaskier's secretly quite pleased with that, happy to have Geralt with him for the entire winter—even if the reason he had to stay in the first place is that winter set in early, with bouts of snow and freezing winds, and Geralt wouldn't have made it to Kaer Morhen in that kind of weather. 

They've been to Oxenfurt together a few times, mostly just passing through and never for an extended period of time, and Jaskier is excited to share a place so dear to him with Geralt. He's already dragged him all over town, showing Geralt his favorite taverns and shops and secret little spots that he found when he attended university. He thinks Geralt has been enjoying his time in Oxenfurt so far as well, though he hasn't said as much in as many words, but he's been mellow and seemingly content. Jaskier suspects the fact that they have a bed that's big enough for two and is put to good use regularly probably has something to do with that. 

He pushes the door to their room open, smiling when he spies Geralt sitting at the table, his potion kit laid out in front of him, vials littering the surface. It's just one room and a separate wet room, but it's nice and spacious, a lot more luxurious than the rooms they usually stay in on their travels. It's one of the things Jaskier indulges in when he's in Oxenfurt for a while—and can easily afford thanks to his salary from the university.

"Hello, my darling witcher," he says with a flourish. "How was the hunt?"

"Good. Easy," Geralt says with a soft expression on his face as he looks at Jaskier. "But surprisingly well-paid." 

Jaskier unclasps his cloak and carefully drapes it on a chair near the fire to dry. "Well, I would sure hope so. One of Oxenfurt's most famed alumni is singing your praises all over the Continent, so people here better be treating you well," he boasts, but he knows it's true. He spends every winter singing song after song about Geralt in the local taverns; there's not a man or woman or babe around here that hasn't heard of Geralt's heroics—and he's not just known as the famous White Wolf, but as Jaskier's witcher.

Jaskier pulls off his boots, putting them out to dry as well, and then pads over to Geralt's side. He's careful not to touch anything on the table—by the looks of it, Geralt's already invested a good portion of the coin he made in ingredients at one of the apothecaries in town. 

"What are you making?" he asks.

"Just taking stock," Geralt says with a hum. "I need to buy a few more things."

"So," Jaskier drawls out. "Not too busy then? I could order us a bath, if you're interested."

"Hmm, later," Geralt hums, giving Jaskier a subtle once-over. Jaskier grins and leans down, nuzzling Geralt's throat. 

"Something else then?"

"You're cold," Geralt replies.

Jaskier licks his lips and straightens, talking one step back from Geralt. "Come warm me up then, witcher," he says. He makes it two more steps before Geralt stands up, another two before Geralt has caught up and then Geralt picks him up and carries him to the bed.

Jaskier laughs as Geralt drops him onto the mattress, the sound silenced by a kiss. For a while they just stay like that, kissing, and Jaskier winds his fingers into Geralt's hair. Geralt's weight is pinning him down, warm and familiar, and Jaskier parts his mouth with a sigh, welcoming the wet slide of Geralt's tongue against his. 

The last traces of cold leave Jaskier, replaced by slow, hot arousal as Geralt's hands start trailing over his body, stroking and petting. They break apart to strip down and their kisses become more heated, Geralt's touch more insistent as he slips one hand down Jaskier's chest, thumbing over a nipple as he worms his other hand between Jaskier and the mattress to palm his ass.

Jaskier whines into Geralt's mouth, hitching his hips to rub his cock against Geralt's. 

"Jask," Geralt murmurs and pulls back. His eyes look darker, a heat in them that makes arousal flood Jaskier's veins. 

"What do you want?" he asks. "Anything you like, dear."

Geralt hums. "Turn around," he says gruffly. "Hands and knees."

Jaskier is quick to do as he's told, heat curling in his belly at the quiet command and the knowledge of what is to follow. He scrambles up onto his knees and buries his face in the pillows, relishing the quiet intake of breath he hears from Geralt. It makes his cheeks flush with pleasure that just seeing him like this does something to Geralt, even though he's seen him like this and in countless other positions so many times. 

Biting his lip, he turns his head. "Get on with it, witcher," he teases, and Geralt doesn't need to be told twice.

He opens Jaskier up with slick fingers, the scent of the sweet oil hanging in the air. Jaskier pushes back onto Geralt's fingers eagerly, moaning and gasping each time Geralt presses against his prostate, curling his fingers deep inside of him. Pleasure coils in his belly and his cock is dripping precome before Geralt is even fucking him and by the time he finally pushes in, curled over Jaskier's body and biting at his neck, Jaskier is already close to coming.

Geralt grunts in his ear as he bottoms out, grips him tight by the hips and gives him a moment before he starts fucking Jaskier with long, deep strokes, the bed creaking under them. Jaskier whimpers and keens loud enough that he thinks the whole of Oxenfurt must be able to hear them, and he doesn't care one bit.

He comes with a cry and Geralt keeps going, fucks him harder until he spills deep inside of Jaskier with a low groan.

*

Jaskier walks the tips of his fingers up Geralt's chest, smiling to himself. The window is cracked open—because it was getting too stuffy in the room after round two—and along with the fresh, cold air, the sound of laughter and chatter is trickling in from the street below.

Jaskier leans in and kisses the curve of Geralt's shoulder, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat and Geralt. They could _both_ really use a bath now, but it's late and Jaskier has no plans to leave the bed again until morning.

This is, however, he thinks, the perfect opportunity to bring up something he has been meaning to ask Geralt for a few days now.

"Did you know that the academy hosts a banquet for the staff and some guests for Yule every year?" he asks. 

"Hmm. No." 

"Well, it's quite the event, my dear," Jaskier continues. "And since you're in Oxenfurt this year and I'm a visiting professor, I was wondering if you wanted to attend it with me?"

Jaskier isn't too surprised when Geralt tenses a little. He catches Jaskier's hand in his, stilling it and trapping it against his chest.

"That's probably not a good idea."

Jaskier sighs and props himself up on one elbow, looking down at Geralt whose expression is carefully blank. "I know you don't like these sort of things, but I promise you it's not like any other banquets you've attended with me," he says. "It's quite fun. Good food and good drink, and it might be a little stuffy at first, but then everyone has a bit of wine and then it's quite a relaxed affair. We can come in late and skip the whole stuffy bit."

Geralt meets his eyes and squeezes his hand. "That's not it, Jask," he mutters.

"Oh," Jaskier says and forces a smile onto his face. "I see."

"Do you?"

"You don't want to attend this with me as my, uh, companion."

Jaskier tries to pull his hand back, but Geralt holds on tight, making it impossible for Jaskier to slip away.

"This isn't some court where you're hired as a bard and will leave again the next day," Geralt says. "These are your peers."

"I'm quite aware of that, yes."

Geralt furrows his brow. "You really want to attend a dinner at the academy with a witcher?" he asks. "I'm not the kind of company you bring to these kinds of things, Jaskier."

Jaskier frowns and huffs. "Darling, that's utter horsecrap. There's nothing wrong with you and there's no reason why you couldn't attend the banquet with me," he says. "It's very sweet that you're concerned about my reputation, but showing up with a gorgeous, wonderful man who I am quite fond of is certainly not going to do it any harm. And everyone knows about us."

"Jask."

"What? They know you're wintering with me," Jaskier argues. "I doubt anyone thinks we're _not_ sharing a bed. Especially not if they've heard any of my songs. I think they're pretty clear on how I feel about you and the part you play in my life."

Geralt doesn't look convinced.

"Darling," Jaskier murmurs. "This isn't some backwater town nor a court full of entitled, stuck-up pricks. People here are more tolerant than that. Not everyone, perhaps, but I quite frankly don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks anyway. I'm not ashamed of you and after all these years you should know that. The entire rest of the Continent knows it, after all."

"I don't want to ruin this for you." 

Jaskier snorts. "If they wouldn't want me to teach here anymore because I bed a witcher, I wouldn't want to come back anyway," he says. "But they know and they don't care. I think quite a few people would be quite honored to meet you, actually. I do sing you nothing but the highest of praises, after all." 

"Hmm," Geralt grunts. "So. It's not stuffy?"

"No, not once the wine flows."

"And I wouldn't have to wear a ridiculous outfit?"

Jaskier grimaces. "Ah, well, that depends on what you think makes a ridiculous outfit," he says. "And quite frankly, given your poor taste in fashion, I don't think you should get a say in this anyway."

Geralt huffs.

"Nothing too ridiculous, I promise," Jaskier wheedles and lies back down, snuggling close and pressing soft, sweet kisses to whatever bit of bare skin he can reach without moving too much. "Please?"

"Alright," Geralt says with a sigh. 

*

Despite his initial agreement, finding Geralt an outfit takes some work. Geralt agrees to go to Jaskier's favorite tailor in Oxenfurt with him—mostly because Jaskier threatens to pick out something colorful if Geralt doesn't accompany him—and he shoots down almost every color and most of the fabrics Jaskier and Pawel, Jaskier's tailor, suggest. Pawel eventually leaves them to decide on their own, probably because Geralt just glowers and grumbles.

Jaskier understands Geralt's concerns as far as the fabric and the fit are concerned—he wants to be comfortable, but most of all he needs to be able to move, even if the chances of something happening at the academy's Yule banquet are pretty darn slim. 

A little color wouldn't hurt, though, if it was up to Jaskier. Geralt whole-heartedly disagrees and they finally settle on a deep gray fabric with silver stitching, the only concession Geralt makes. He acts as if Jaskier talked him into wearing one of his own outfits.

"I don't want to wear anything… flashy," he mutters, jaw tense.

"Darling. It's stitching. That's hardly flashy; you won't even be able to notice it if you're not up-close," Jaskier reassures him, slipping his arm around Geralt's as they head back to the inn. "I promise you, you will look utterly boring and inconspicuous next to me."

Geralt grunts. "I don't like attention," he mutters, as if Jaskier doesn't know that. 

He sighs. "Well, I can't promise you won't be getting any," he says. "But if it gets too much, we can leave. Or I will do something utterly embarrassing to draw all the attention to myself."

"You're good at that," Geralt concedes, rolling his eyes. Jaskier slaps his arm.

"Don't be mean to the man who just offered to save you from a bunch of scary academics, if need be."

"You're the one subjecting me to them in the first place."

"I've seen you fight all kinds of beasties and monsters, dear heart. Don't tell me it's a few professors that are what finally instills fear in you."

"If they're anything like you, yes," Geralt mocks.

*

Jaskier might have liked for Geralt to wear something a bit more colorful, but he can't deny that Geralt still looks utterly beautiful in the outfit he picked. The stitching shimmers prettily in the firelight of their room and the cut is perfect, showing off Geralt's strong build.

"You look gorgeous," Jaskier compliments. 

Geralt looks at him dubiously, but just hums in reply. 

"Really," Jaskier insists and steps closer, smoothing out the fabric over Geralt's shoulders. "Now we just just need to do your hair."

"Jaskier," Geralt says, tone warning.

"Just let me braid the sides back and then tie it together, it won't be all that different from how you usually wear it," Jaskier pleads and then smiles. "I have something for you, too."

He steps back before Geralt can reply and goes to retrieve the satchel with the gift he got Geralt in town a few days ago. He returns to Geralt's side and hands it over, watching excitedly as Geralt opens the little bag and pulls out the silver hairpin. It's wide and solid, a woven pattern with a little flower in the middle.

"I thought it would suit you," Jaskier says and feels his cheeks warm. "It's a buttercup." 

"A buttercup," Geralt repeats and raises one eyebrow. 

"What a coincidence, huh?" Jaskier lies smoothly. "So. Will you let me do your hair?"

"Fine," Geralt gives in, and there's a hint of a smile on his face that wouldn't be recognizable as such to anyone who doesn't know him well.

Pleased, Jaskier hums to himself as he ushers Geralt to sit down and goes to get a comb. He doesn't try anything too fancy, not wanting to test Geralt's patience nor sure in his own ability, because he hasn't done this in years. He braids a small plait at each side of Geralt's head and ties them back with the rest of Geralt's hair the way he usually would, clipping the hair pin into place. 

"Tada," he says, spreading his hands out. "There you go, a Jaskier masterpiece."

Geralt touches his fingers to the side of his head carefully and then moves his head around a little, probably testing if it pulls too much. 

"Good?" Jaskier asks.

"Hmm. Yes," Geralt replies and Jaskier beams.

"Well, then, dear," he says. "Give me a few moments to finish getting ready myself and then we can leave."

He's already mostly dressed, just slips on the teal-colored, painfully expensive doublet he purchased when they arrived in Oxenfurt and then dabs some scented oil onto his inner wrists and behind his ears. 

Jaskier slips his red cloak over his shoulders—the one purchase this winter that Geralt actually approved of, because it's not just pretty, but actually warm too. 

Outside it's once again snowing and Jaskier slips his hood over his head and tries not to step into any big piles of snow as they head towards the university buildings. 

By the time they get there, Jaskier is feeling a little chilled and he's eager to get inside and get warmed up and have a drink. The banquet hall is already quite crowded when they step inside and Jaskier hums in approval.

"Good, we're early enough that dinner hasn't been served yet, but late enough that everyone's already had a drink or two," he murmurs to Geralt, hooking his arm around his.

Geralt snorts. "I thought this was a pleasant affair."

"Hmm, mostly," Jaskier agrees with a grin and pats Geralt's arm with his free hand. "As I said, only after everyone has had some wine. Which is why we should go get some, dear."

"Jask," Geralt warns.

Jaskier smiles sweetly. "Wine," he says. "And then we'll have a grand ol' time, darling."

Geralt hums, not convinced. He seems a bit more mollified once Jaskier has snagged two goblets of wine for them, though he doesn't look happy whenever he notices someone sneaking glances at them. Which, Jaskier has to admit, is happening a lot.

"Don't you worry," he says. "They're staring at your gorgeous companion, not you. I'm quite a big deal, remember?"

It's a lie, of course, but Geralt's shoulders relax a little anyway and Jaskier smiles at him. 

"You do tend to act a fool and draw attention to yourself," Geralt replies. Jaskier swats his arm.

"Rude. You're terribly, terribly rude," he says and then sobers a little. "They look at you because they've heard so much about you, Geralt. Every winter, I come here, and I sing my songs over and over, making sure there isn't a person in Oxenfurt that doesn't know how good you are, how noble, how _magnificent_. I may be a renowned bard, but you—you're just as famous." "Jaskier," Geralt mutters, mouth drawn tight, and Jaskier knows he doesn't believe him, knows it makes him uncomfortable when Jaskier praises him. But Jaskier needs him to listen this time, because this isn't some backwater town; this is a place that's near and dear to Jaskier and he wants Geralt to be comfortable, to be truly himself and know he is accepted.

"I have many friends here, Geralt. And they know I love you dearly. More than anything. Would you not be a little curious if Eskel or Lambert felt that way about someone?" 

"I would," Geralt admits.

"Well, see?" Jaskier prompts and rests his hand on Geralt's arm, squeezing it. "Nobody here tonight is looking at you with judgement. They're looking at you with awe, because that's how I look at you."

"Alright. That's enough," Geralt grumbles, not meeting Jaskier's eyes, but the lines around his mouth have relaxed and he's almost smiling a little. 

"Alright," he agrees. "So, then, witcher. Are you ready to mingle?"

Geralt gives him a pained look. "More wine first?"

"More wine first," Jaskier agrees jovially.

*

Jaskier regrets bringing Geralt and introducing him to people _just a tiny bit_ a short while later.

He tries not to scowl down at his mostly untouched dinner, tries to keep smiling and look cheerful. Geralt, it seems, is actually having a good time, making conversation with Milo de Berg, one of the history professors, who has been eagerly drilling Geralt for details about past wars and skirmishes and political affairs he has been alive for. Geralt isn't exactly being _chatty_ , but he's making conversation. 

And Jaskier is glad. He truly is. It's great that Geralt is making a friend. Jaskier just wishes Geralt was making friends with someone who is less obviously flirting with him. Milo, the bastard, is laughing and leaning in, hanging on to Geralt's every word—few as they are—and not taking his eyes off him. 

Maybe Jaskier's songs have been too subtle as far as the nature of his and Geralt's relationship is concerned. Jaskier has gone to great lengths to work in many metaphors to hint at Geralt's prowess and it is coming back to bite him in the ass now. Hiding his displeased face behind his goblet of wine, Jaskier starts to mentally compose a new song, titled _Geralt of Rivia is fucking me, don't touch him, he's mine_. Maybe there'll also be one about the tragic demise of a history professor. 

A hand settles on Jaskier's thigh, warm and heavy. "Eat," Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier sniffs and looks at him, bottom lip pushed out. Geralt looks amused.

He leans in, until his lips almost brush Jaskier's ear, his breath warm on Jaskier's skin. "Am I not paying enough attention to you?" he asks teasingly, and damn him for knowing Jaskier too well. 

"You're free to give your attention to whomever you like," Jaskier says primly.

Geralt laughs softly, the sound brushing over Jaskier's ear. "You wanted me to mingle."

Jaskier huffs and pouts at him.

Geralt's grins and squeezes his thigh again. "Eat," he repeats. 

"Is everything okay, Jaskier?" Milo asks, leaning forward to peer around Geralt, a mild smile on his face. "You seem a little miffed. Are you not enjoying yourself?"

"I'm quite alright, thank you, Milo," Jaskier says and covers Geralt's hand with his, partly to hold it and partly to make it stay in place. 

"I'm sorry if I have been hogging Geralt's attention," Milo says, not sounding sorry at all. "But your friend has led such a fascinating life, I can't help myself from wanting to hear all about it."

Jaskier forces a smile onto his face, but before he can reply—and he would have come up with something perfectly witty and scathing in just a moment, surely—Geralt clears his throat.

"Jaskier knows my attention is always his," he says, and Milo's expression shutters as he draws back a little.

"Of course. You two are quite close."

"Quite," Geralt agrees with a hum, and Jaskier smiles at him.

"Could not be closer," Jaskier confirms, feeling the jealousy in the pit of his stomach ease and his appetite return. 

*

"One dance," Jaskier pleads. "Just one and then I'll never ask you to dance with me again."

"You're lying," Geralt says.

Jaskier sighs. "Okay, yes, I am," he admits. "But I won't ask again for a while. Please? I know you can dance, darling witcher, because I've seen you dance at banquets before."

"Because I had to," Geralt says.

"Well, you have to now as well," Jaskier argues. "It's...ah, it's a rule, you see. Everyone attending the Yule banquet at Oxenfurt has to dance."

"Hmm," Geralt hums and looks around once. "Perhaps I should ask Milo then."

"That is _not_ funny, Geralt," Jaskier huffs. "The nerve of that man, flirting with you while I'm right there. Who does that?"

"You sleep with married people all the time," Geralt points out.

"That's different. I would not flirt with anyone with their spouse listening to us. Unless said spouse was as well interested," Jaskier argues. "And I only sleep with other people when we're not traveling together these days, so that's hardly ever. And for all you know there have been no married people when we're not together."

"Have there not?"

"I won't answer that question," Jaskier replies with a sniff.

"Hmm." 

"And anyway, stop trying to deflect, witcher. I demand a dance," Jaskier says and while his words sound firm, his tone is hopeful. Geralt looks at him and sighs, but then takes Jaskier's hand in his wordlessly and leads him out to the floor.

Jaskier smiles as they get into position and Geralt starts leading them. He ducks his head, letting it almost rest against Geralt's. 

"Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?" he murmurs, after a few moments.

Geralt grunts.

"You do, dear. You always do, of course. Even covered in monster guts you look stunning. But tonight… oh, tonight. You look simply breathtaking," he compliments.

"I'm already dancing with you. You don't need to flatter me." 

Jaskier tips his head back and smiles. "I always want to flatter you," he says. "And I know you don't _really_ believe me. So I will keep saying it until you do."

Geralt hums and after a moment of hesitation, he says, "You don't look too bad, either." 

Jaskier snorts. "Thank you, darling," he says and leans forward, resting their cheeks together. "That was almost a compliment."

"Hmm."

"This is really nice. Dancing with you," Jaskier adds. "I'm really glad you agreed to come tonight."

"Even though someone flirted with me?"

Jaskier snorts. "I can't really blame them. How could anyone not?" he says. "But you're going home with me."

"Hmm. Yes."

Jaskier smiles to himself, lowering his head to tuck it into the curve of Geralt's neck. He has no doubt everyone is watching them, watching him dancing with the White Wolf of Kaer Morhen. His witcher. He hopes Milo of fucking Berg is watching them, too, and seeing what Jaskier has and he never will. 

*

Everyone is still dancing and drinking merrily when they duck out, collecting their cloaks before heading out into the cold, dark night. A few other people spill out with them, but everyone disperses quickly. Jaskier tugs his cloak around himself and leans in close to Geralt, slipping his hand around Geralt's arm, the fabric of their cloaks getting tangled. Jaskier doesn't care as long as he can walk closely beside Geralt and steal some of his body heat. The snow crunches under their boots and Jaskier feels light and happy and a little tipsy.

"Come here," he says, and gives Geralt's arm a tug. Geralt allows himself to be steered around some buildings and Jaskier navigates the familiar layout of the academy easily, leading Geralt around several corners until they end up in a small courtyard, nestled between buildings.

"This was one of my favorite places," Jaskier says, leaving behind a trail of footsteps in the pristine snow as he leads Geralt into the middle of the courtyard. There's a large tree in the middle, a few benches lining the sides of the courtyard.

Geralt looks around, breathing in deep. "Peaceful," he notes.

Jaskier hums. "Yes. I know that might seem surprising, but that's exactly why I liked it," he says and lets go of Geralt's arm. He takes several steps forward and then spins around in a circle, smiling at the way his cloak fans out. "Sometimes when I felt things got too much, I would come here. Just sit somewhere and play my lute."

"Hmm." 

Jaskier bites his bottom lip. He's shown Geralt several places around Oxenfurt, shared memories and made news ones with him there. This place, though, this place is more special than any other.

"I think I was sitting right there," he says quietly and points at a bench.

Geralt makes a questioning noise and Jaskier smiles, walking over to the aforementioned bench. It's covered in snow and Jaskier halts in front of it, looking down. Geralt follows, standing close by his side. 

"What happened here?"

Jaskier hums. "This, my dear, is where my life changed. I didn't know it then, of course," he says. "I was sitting here, nursing a broken heart, mind you, playing my lute and that's when I first heard your name." 

"My name," Geralt echoes.

Jaskier nods. "Yes," he says and points to the side. "There was this group of students right there. They were talking about witchers and someone said your name _, Geralt of Rivia_."

"The butcher," Geralt mutters.

Jaskier huffs. "Maybe, yes," he concedes. "But I never cared for that. And I knew better the moment I met you. I knew you weren't what people said about you."

"Why?" Geralt mutters.

Jaskier turns to him, slips his arms under Geralt's cloak and around his waist. He's warm and Jaskier steps in close.

"I'm a good judge of character," he says quietly. "I've met enough awful people. I was raised by one. And I never believed any of the awful crap people said about witchers, but even if I had I would have known better the moment we met."

"I punched you in the gut," Geralt says with a scoff, slipping his own arms around Jaskier.

"Shouldn't have called you butcher," Jaskier murmurs and leans into Geralt. "I knew it, Geralt, knew it the moment I saw you."

"Knew what?"

"That I would follow you to the edge of the world, dear heart," Jaskier says and smiles, resting their foreheads together. A snowflake lands on his cheek, cold and wet, and more have started coming down again.

Geralt grunts.

"And here we are," Jaskier continues. "And you've followed me to Oxenfurt instead. Funny, isn't it?"

"The path to the keep was impassible." 

"Hmm," Jaskier hums and feels Geralt tighten his arms around him. 

"Wouldn't have come here otherwise."

"Yes. I know," Jaskier murmurs.

Geralt huffs. "But perhaps, next year, you might come to Kaer Morhen with me. If you want to," he says stiltedly.

"Yeah?"

"Hmm."

"Perhaps I just might, dear heart," Jaskier agrees and tips his head back, smiling. Geralt hums and leans in, covering Jaskier's mouth with his in a soft kiss.

The snow picks up, but they stay wrapped up in each other, kissing, until Jaskier feels his cheeks sting and his feet grow cold. He pulls away reluctantly, trying to hide a shiver.

"Let's go home," he says and Geralt smiles indulgently.

"You won't be as spoiled at Kaer Morhen," he warns, keeping his arm wrapped around Jaskier's waist as they turn to leave.

"Hmm."

"And you'll have to pitch in."

"I can do that," Jaskier agrees.

"It's cold. Drafty."

"Okay."

Geralt hums and Jaskier looks at him, sees him smile. "I'll keep you warm," he says, almost softly.

"I know, darling," Jaskier says, and he can't wait for next winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Other places you can find me: [twitter](https://twitter.com/whispered_story) | [tumblr](https://whispered-story.tumblr.com/)


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